Chapter 21
Fiona gave herself a pat on the back. Things were settling down at home and an acceptable, if not yet wonderful, atmosphere had descended. Most of the time Joe was remembering to treat his daughter like an adult instead of a child and, most of the time, Adele responded well. There also seemed to be an understanding developing between Fiona and Adele, brought about, at least in part, by their joint project of The Baby Shower. Fiona controlled the reins but consulted the mum-to-be on all aspects. Adele was laid-back and mostly able to go with the flow.
She poured a second cup of tea in the morning quiet of the kitchen. Joe had left for work and Adele was yet to surface. Fiona congratulated herself on her flexibility in adapting to a new lifestyle, her generosity in opening her house without argument, and her gradual success in morphing from girlfriend to cohabitee. This might actually be a situation she could live with until Rose returned and gave Adele a new home.
She jumped as her phone pinged and vibrated on the table alongside her cup. She picked it up and swiped.
“The club Christmas dinner! Damn! I forgot.” The self-congratulation was misplaced. In normal times any date that she put in her electronic calendar automatically lodged itself in her brain and she barely needed the phone alerts. But now that her familiar scaffolding of work and routine was gone, she was struggling to hold disparate things in her head.
In the months before finishing work, she’d made an effort to organise the best use of her coming free time. She’d drawn up a list of new things to try, old interests to resurrect and travel destinations she wanted to visit. Most of the stuff, like dipping a toe into the U3A, investigating behind-the-scenes opportunities at the amateur dramatic society, and joining a Bridge club would be best tackled in January when they restarted after the Christmas break. Stand-up paddleboarding on the local lake would benefit from waiting until the spring. Before finishing work she’d already tried a few sessions of the Retired Means Active club for ex-professionals and it was the reminder for their Christmas dinner that was pinging her now. Did she still want to go? It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d been in the meeting room above the Red Lion and had signed up and paid her deposit. Could she still go? Joe had got into the habit of expecting a meal on the table when he got home from work. Adele wouldn’t eat properly unless it was provided for her. Fiona felt obliged to make sure the baby got the best possible start in life. And wasn’t part of this ‘life partner’ thing doing your bit at home while the other was out working?
Then the truth hit home: this was not how she wanted her life with Joe to pan out. If Amber had lived it would have been different. Making a home for your own child and its father would have been a worthwhile mission. She would have ensured that when Amber reached eighteen and went off to university she had all the skills to be independent. Amber would have known how to look after herself, and Fiona and Rob would have been free to enjoy themselves in the knowledge that their daughter was equipped to deal with whatever life threw at her. Of course they would’ve helped her in an absolute emergency but not in this constant drip, drip way that younger adults required these days. Now it seemed that the apron strings were never quite cut and parents never regained their freedom.
She drained her mug and stood up. Yes, she would go to the Retired Means Active dinner tonight. She looked at the notes in her calendar; she’d pre-ordered a mini Caesar salad, turkey with seasonal vegetables, followed by raspberry roulade. She started to look forward to it. The dinner and new people would be a breath of fresh air.
Adele wandered into the kitchen in a dressing gown. Fiona tried to picture how she might have handled this situation with her own daughter.
“I’ll be eating out this evening, Adele.”
“OK.”
“Will you be able to do a meal for you and your dad?”
“OK.”
This easy agreement didn’t seem right. “What will you cook?”
The question seemed to wake Adele up properly. “Cook? I think you have Deliveroo around here.”
“That’s going to be expensive.” And unhealthy.
“One takeaway isn’t going to break the bank.”
Says she who’s not contributing a single penny to the household budget. It wasn’t Fiona’s problem but she couldn’t leave it. And she didn’t fancy returning home to the smell of chips, curry or garlic with the wrappings discarded haphazardly in the kitchen bin rather than taken straight out to the wheelie bin.
“I’ll take some frozen bolognaise out of the freezer,” Fiona said. “You can defrost that, cook some spaghetti and there’s a bag of salad leaves in the bottom of the fridge.”
“Whatever. But Dad will probably prefer a takeaway too — it’s what we always did if Mum went out. Not that she went out often. Dad gave her too much hassle about it.”
“Hassle?” A drip of anxiety started in her stomach. This wasn’t something she’d have expected of Joe — given that he often had evenings out with his football or work buddies. Was this a case of one rule for the man but a different rule for everyone else? “What sort of hassle?”
“Just the usual stuff that he nags me about. Where are you going? Who will be there? What time are you coming home? How will you get home? I ignore it but it spoiled the whole prospect of going out for Mum. And his last question always used to be—” Adele switched to a whiny voice — “do you have to go out? It would be much nicer if we spent the evening together.”
Joe wouldn’t act like that with her — their relationship had always been one of equals with no dependency on her part. In fact, he was now dependent on her. Pushing those thoughts aside, she wrote detailed instructions about the bolognaise, spaghetti and salad. And then cursed as she realised she’d just placed herself in a wifely role. But it was her kitchen and she wanted to be in control.
Fiona was showered, dressed, made-up and ready to go when Joe got home.
“Would you mind giving me a lift,” she asked. “And collecting me? I’d quite like to have some wine with my meal.”
“Where are you going?”
She answered and he followed up with more questions, exactly fitting the pattern that Adele had said he followed with Rose.
“Joe, I don’t need this inquisition. Look at me. I’m not Rose.” He had the decency to blush. “Taxiing me there and back is the least you can do for the woman who you profess to love and who has given you a roof over your head.” She managed to keep most of the anger out of her voice and also to push away the doubts about their relationship that this inquisition was feeding.
“Sorry, you’re right. Let’s go.” Then he paused and looked at her neckline. “You’re not wearing my ruby.”
Fiona touched the amber pendant. “I . . . it didn’t seem appropriate . .. too showy for this occasion.” Why was she making up excuses? “And I’ve already told you, this one has sentimental value.”
A frown lingered on Joe’s forehead and then he called into the lounge, “Adele, what takeaway do you want tonight?”
His daughter came into the hallway. “Indian.” Then she raised her eyebrows and silently said ‘I told you so’ to Fiona.
It was his money and she wasn’t going to spoil her evening by leaving the house with an argument hanging. The bolognaise had hardly started to thaw. She pushed it back in the freezer and threw the note in the bin. They were trying to control each other, she by dictating what Joe should eat and, therefore, how he should spend his money, and he by wanting to know every detail of her forthcoming evening. She needed to treat Joe how she would like to be treated herself.